


Caligula

by death13



Series: CRIMEWAVE [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Catfishing, Coming of Age, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Mommy Issues, Mystery, Near Death Experiences, Non-Graphic Violence, Photography, Reader is insane, Reader-Insert, Self-Destruction, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Swearing, Therapy, but it's like. Fucked up, kind of, that about covers it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23739979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/death13/pseuds/death13
Summary: Miya Atsumu has a cute, shy Internet girlfriend whose texts he doesn't respond to because of volleyball. You're a runway model struck by a case of lachesism. The two of you crash like tidal waves.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader
Series: CRIMEWAVE [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707358
Comments: 29
Kudos: 86





	1. Graveyard Girl

Life is so interesting. Though, to kids, insignificant things such as ants crushed under shoe soles are entertaining, too.

You prefer bleak walls scratching off and trashy neighborhoods over polished ones; you enjoy seeing strangers hang out in dangerous places, you like blurry trips downtown and you like walks in the park as long as you can sneak off deeper and deeper until your parents lose sight of you. You like to think about the lives of people you've never spoken to and adults always look so worn down, you can't help wondering what's tormenting them.

No one is truly gone, though they are forgotten. Maybe someone's blood seeps through the pavement you walk on until it dries over and you can't see it but it's there, maybe they weep and cry like bitches and wipe it off on that sweater you later end up buying from a thrift shop. When something is forgotten, it's like it never existed in the first place, but no one ever truly dies.

You find no beauty in eternity and forever sounds unappealing. What’s forgotten, what happens in an instant, it's endearing. You want to be forgotten.

Your mom tugs at your hair and tells you to stop staring out the window. Soulless gaze and slanted lips. Your head snaps back to the front and you stare ahead, there's a crack coming from your neck with every twitch you make. You're so shallow.

Life is so interesting. Are these people you see passing by in broken mirrors and muddy puddles shallow, too?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I didn't take you for the modeling type, [L/n]," a classmate of yours says.

And you're not. It goes against what you think about most things. It clashes with your schedule of being a menace to the general public, and it goes against your desire to disappear without a trace. You shake your head _no_.

"Lame. I wanna try it out. How much do you make a gig?"

"Dunno. My mom gets the money." You don't speak often. You have hostile thoughts though mostly your head is devoid of anything sensible, you dream of unattainable things and you dream of getting close to a fire that burns more than your rage does. You don't mind.

"Lame, again. I'd buy something," she argues, though you're not sure why. Does she not understand that this is out of your hands?

This girl, Haruna, you do not understand what she wants from you. She wants to be your friend, but the two of you aren't compatible at all. 

"Call me lame again and I'll bash your skull in." You don't speak often. People don't plan murder out loud━your mom says it's taboo.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

After-school hours are like the gate between two disasters waiting to happen.

There is blood dripping from your nose and your cheeks are stinging and itching, your classmate's manicure embedded into them, guiltless. When you inhale, you can feel iron in your nostrils. It doesn't matter, you won like you always did.

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand. That's the moment it occurs to you that you're bleeding a lot. Using the sticky substance on your finger as paint, you write out _'4ever'_ on the wall of your school. Someone will wipe it off or it'll dry away or something else will happen. It'll disappear one way or another, and that satisfies you.

To honor it, you take a picture.

Later, when your mom picks you up. She scolds you for getting in another fight but reassures you it's nothing that makeup can't fix. You want to protest and in return, reassure her that you don't care but she never listens and you seldom speak.

When the cameras roll and they force you to grin━it's routine━you give them a bloody smile.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Miya Atsumu learns what love is by the time he's sixteen and in his first year of high-school. Love is called _Su-mi-re_ - _ko_ like spring and innocence and religious rituals, an interesting name, unlike the common _Sumire_. Love is dedicated and warm, love is kind and selfless, love blooms in somewhere far away in Miyagi.

(Love is oblivious and unrequited.)

It's not that Atsumu doesn't want to give anything back, or that he means to be dismissive. He just doesn't have time, always in and out of practice, and the reason he responded to her message in the first place was because of the way she looks. Osamu says he's an asshole, and he's right.

Sumireko looks like a dead girl walking. A haunting brand of beauty, from the firm press of her lips against one another and to the mean slant in her eyebrows and the slight bags under her eyes. Atsumu swears that he's not shallow, it's just that he's treated as an idol and it's hard to get his attention━

Okay, he admits that he is, in fact, shallow after his inner monologues somehow derail and become less and less convincing. Not that he thinks about that casual relationship super often, not when he has volleyball on his mind. It's about often enough to make him question his morals, though.

Atsumu was quick to find out that her looks were deceiving. In her texts, she's always shy and sweet, and her voice on the phone reminds him of the birds chirping outside. To be fair, he doesn't know if he finds that more annoying than endearing, but that's not of great importance.

"Hey, 'Tsumu. You never showed me that girlfriend you have," Osamu says after practice. He sounds otherwise disinterested but also slightly suspicious, like Atsumu is lying. As if.

He reaches for his phone and takes it in his sweaty volleyball grip before scrolling through a few pictures until he settles on a particularly beautiful picture Sumireko sent him over the weekend. "See? My girl's great."

"I guess she's pretty." And that's the sound of defeat. Atsumu: 1, Osamu: 0. "You should treat her better, though, or you're going to lose her to someone better, eventually." Ouch. Atsumu: 1, Osamu: 1.

Suna, looking for an excuse to make a petty remark, looks over Osamu's shoulder, though he's mostly confused. "Hey, that Sumireko girl looks kinda familiar?"

"Are you asking me or are you telling me?"

"Either she has a doppelganger or I've seen her somewhere. But she's not from here, right?"

"No, she's from Miyagi," Atsumu says. Informative as always.

The topic gets dropped after this brief exchange, apart from when he uses his relationship status as a bragging point or to tease someone. Truly, Miya Atsumu is a menace, it's a wonder how such a timid girl could stand him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

**satou haruna** :  
girl ))))):  
why didn't u tell me ur moving away i thought we were friends...

 **[L/n]** :  
i didn't think it was important

 **satou haruna** :  
????????????????????  
what the  
 _Seen_

In Hyogo, the summers are wet and hot and sweat clings to your skin along with water-drops. There are new bleak walls to vandalize and pass by and a new high school to terrorize. When you have free time, you walk around abandoned buildings, lean on snappy railings and snap pictures of things you consider curious.

Further into the shade and away from the sun, you lay crouching down against a parked car and listen in on the ongoing conversation. You think it's some kind of drug trade occurring, here, where the only people listening in are ghosts and you. 

Slowly, you stand up and peek at them through the car windows. Once the younger man pulls something out of his coat. You focus your phone and snap the picture from a weird angle as to leave their faces obscured, even if you're going to edit them out later. Not that the quality matters that much, the moment has been captured already. 

They go to separate and you turn to leave as silently as possible, though you accidentally hit the car. It blares a high-pitched noise, alerting everyone of your lurking. "Is there somebody here?!" one of the men screams while you scurry away.

They follow the sound of your footsteps, running after though you're ahead of them. "Bitch! Come back!"

After you spot what you've been looking for, which is another abandoned building in the area you used to trespass in, you locate the removed window, rush ahead and jump up ahead until your fingers graze the windowsill. One man pulls on your leg, though you kick him off easily and throw your body in, descending further inside.

"You ain't seen nothing, bitch." Those are his last words before they both give up on dealing with you. You smile wryly to yourself.

 **satou haruna** :  
ur in Hyogo rite?  
which high school

 **[L/n]** :  
inarizaki

 **satou haruna** :  
cool!!  
they have a nice v-ball club did u know  
 _Seen_

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Err, this year we have a new student. She transferred here from Miyagi. Please be kind to her. Miss [L/n], would you like to say something about yourself?" the teacher coughs awkwardly, as if he's uncomfortable by your presence.

Even if he is just imagining his superior's off behavior, Atsumu himself is very uncomfortable. You don't acknowledge him, instead opting to stare off into space. Sumireko's last name is obviously not [L/n].

"No," you say bluntly. This is not Sumireko's voice.

"Ah, you can sit down then," the teacher allows, again with unease for some reason, and you do as told. 

Atsumu hears the way you ungracefully drop onto your assigned seat that's conveniently behind him. He can't help turning around and staring, even if the situation is obvious he can't get over this brief stage of disbelief. "Sumireko...?"

"What are you talking about? That's not my name," you snap, annoyed.

 **sumi-chan** :  
Hope you have a fun and safe first-day back to school Atsumu-kun ^__^


	2. No-Good, Blood Sucker

Atsumu glances at you all day as if he's wary of a dangerous species from afar. You don't question him, nor pay him any mind. He considers telling you about Sumireko after she's used your pictures to build some kind of fictional persona, but you look like you don't want to know.

He hasn't responded to any of Sumireko's messages yet. Not that this is anything out of the ordinary.

Atsumu puts on that smile that he makes that's not _really_ there, a skeleton's smile, a ghost of his lips when he approaches you. "Hey," he says awkwardly, like a declaration. He wonders if you remember that incident from a few days ago when he'd called you by his apparently fake girlfriend's name, though you don't show it.

"The fuck do you want?" 

Okay, rude. 

"This is gonna sound crazy, but hear me out. This girl catfished me using your picture and now you go to my school." He sounds too happy and unnatural while he says it. For some reason, Atsumu decides that it's a good idea to keep blabbering on. "The world is small, isn't it?"

He doesn't know what he expects you to say, to be honest. You're not a very talkative person and when you _do_ say something, it's curt and inconsiderate. You narrow your eyes at him as if you're trying to find some hidden agenda in his words, though you come up short. 

"Ha, and you fell for that? You gotta be stupid," you say. Your sneer shows too much of your teeth and crinkles your eyes, like a mocking declaration of superiority. Atsumu doesn't know why he's so insistent on comparing you to this girl that doesn't exist but has your face, Sumireko. Such an expression he's never seen in the pictures she sent.

It was always a smile that was a little too tame and too tight around the lips. More fitting of the character she was playing, almost.

"Guess so," he agrees, indifferent. He doesn't care what you have to say, he didn't exactly expect any kind words when he approached you.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Feels wrong to keep it to myself when you're here now, ya know?" he says and follows up with a vague motion in the air. 

"Had to take it off your chest that you were made a fool of without your friends making fun of you? Conscience calls," you say, slightly incoherently, but he thinks he understands what you mean. Maybe. Instead of voicing his uncertainties about your words, he lets his head nod.

And just like that, you don't speak to each other again that day.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You have group therapy sessions on Friday. You attend them out of curiosity, more so than some sort of self-care, though what your mom doesn't know can't hurt her. Some people say that ignorance is bliss, you think that it's more like elegance. 

You arrive a few minutes late and no one pays you any mind as you sit down on one of the chairs, unceremoniously. There's something domineering about the way you present yourself, from the way your shoulders spread out behind the back of the chair and the way you cross your legs.

"[L/n]," the therapist, Ms. Fujiwara, greets you warmly. "Glad you turned up today."

 _Yeah, yeah_ , you think to yourself, though you don't voice it out. These aren't very productive meetings for you.

"Do you have anything you'd like to share today?" She gives you an honest smile like she's trying to nudge you in the right direction, gentle but afraid to get too close. It's not rare for people to treat you with caution, like a vulture ready to pry someone's eyes out━you don't mind.

The annoying one with the buzzcut is the only one that ever addresses you. It's kind of refreshing, but you'd also like to see him squirm. "Yeah, take any pictures of car accidents lately, crazy bitch?"

"Hoshikawa! No one here is _crazy_ ," the therapist emphasizes. "This is your last warning." You're sure that this is his sixth last warning, but you digress. You don't know what the hell is wrong with him and you're not eager to find out, either, but his parents must have money shooting off of their shaved assholes to keep him around for this long.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. She's an _artist_ ," he corrects himself sardonically, not even bothering to feign at least a sliver of guilt. Then, he taps his temple with his index finger and motions towards you as some unspoken implication. 

Man, you _really_ wanna see him squirm.

The therapist glares once more and declares him impossible. That should be that, though you turn towards him. You don't acknowledge his frivolous provocations because he's nothing more than a big fish in a small pond. Regardless, you humor him this once.

What was his name, again? You don't remember. You feel like Ms. Fujiwara mentioned it, but you're not sure.

"Thank you for your kind words, Sir Neurotypical the Third," you say.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You see him again after the session is over. As usual, you didn't mention anything personal, and it's not like anything interesting has happened to you, either. He's smoking and watching it dissipate into the starless sky. Did it always get dark so early?

He's always so aggressive and explosive, playing the bad guy, though he's also fragile with skinny wrists, bruised knees and has a slight slouch in his posture. You wonder what it'd take to see him break down. "Hey, SNT," you call out.

He looks towards you. "What?"

"Short for Sir Neurotypical the Third, you're welcome. I'm sure no one else has ever paid you this much attention before," you say back sweetly. Then you join him as he leans against the railing.

You watch the conflict in his face before he settles on blowing his smoke in your face after he struggles to come up with some kind of comeback and there's still nothing. _This won't do_ , you think to yourself.

It’s random when you grab him and bash his head against the railing, with slight caution as not to induce some sort of obvious brain damage, though to you your actions make perfect sense. His nose takes most of the damage. You think he might have blacked out when you watch his fingers slip and the cigarette falls down. 

You snap a picture of the scene. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When you're in front of your apartment complex, it's already too late for it to be considered an acceptable time to come back home. You see the elevator closing in through the glass doors and in a rush, you run forward, feverishly pressing the button until you slip inside easily.

There's a dopey smile on your face, but your eyes are empty.

"You look, err. Happy," Atsumu comments casually. The elevator door closes and you push the button that says ten. He didn't know that you were neighbors, the world really is small he supposes.

"Do I know you?" you ask bluntly.

Well, you know how to make a guy feel worthless if not anything else. It's slightly offensive, but mostly hot.

"We're in the same class."

You look him up and down and again, you don't remember him. Dyed hair, brown eyes, he's not exactly generic. Suddenly, you feel like you recognize him. He's that idiot that got catfished, isn't he? "Oh, right. Interesting," you say in a dismissive tone as you lean further into the metallic wall.

The elevator jostles and then stops moving altogether. You feel it reverberate against your spine. Atsumu sways back and you consider him once more. That catfish situation sounds entertaining and you've got time to kill. "What's her name?"

"Who?" he says, intelligently. He didn't expect you to try to start a conversation with him, mentally preparing himself for a however-long awkward silence to settle. Not waiting for an answer and coming back to his senses, he answers. "Sumireko."

" _Sumireko?_ That's such a fake name. Like a plain girl trying to sound exotic," you say with the same mocking grin. 

"Whatever," he says to nothing in particular. "Do you doubt everyone you talk to?"

"Yeah."

"That's not a good trait to have, [L/n]," he chides.

"Whatever," you mirror, trying to imitate his voice. "Do you still talk to her?"

"Sometimes. It's not that much different." It's a nonchalant confession. Yeah, she wasn't who she claimed to be, but it's not like he was overly involved with her in the first place. Perhaps he was cruel, or maybe he thought exposing her would warrant different means, like taking a video with you, though he wouldn't request such a thing. Atsumu's not one for begging, after all.

Your face reverts back to that neutral expression with something more sinister underlying. You never talk much because your mom used to tell you that you're more appealing with your mouth shut. 

He waits for you to follow-up with something, but you stay silent.

"Why were ya out so late? You don't have any club activities, right?" he asks, veering the conversation in what he believes to be a more suitable direction. The catfish thing is funny and all, but if you're just going to make fun of him, he can't promise civility when you're stuck together.

You blink like you were snapped out of a trance. "No, I don't. Just hanging out." That was a lie. Or was it? What _were_ you doing? Today is a Friday, so you must've been at group therapy. Right, so that counts as hanging out to you. Finally satisfied with your answer and deeming it valid enough, you continue. "What were you doing?"

"Oh, I’m a starter on our volleyball team," he gloats.

"Really," you deadpan, apparently disinterested.

"Y'know, in these kinds of situations, socially adept people pretend to be impressed."

"When?"

"I just said, in these kinds of situations. Like, when someone is _sharing an achievement_ of theirs with you or something," he mansplains. 'Sharing an achievement' appears to be a diplomatic way of saying bragging.

"No, when did I ask?"

He stares at you with an incredulous expression. "Ya didn't." Then, he suddenly realizes that amidst this painstakingly stupid conversation, neither of you even thought of calling for help. He takes his phone out of his pocket, ready to text his mom, and you decide to speak again with a belated reaction.

"Also, the 'star athlete' can't take a couple of stairs? Give me a break."

"Shut up!"


	3. Menace

Unlike what depictions of popular movies might imply, lying on train tracks isn't as pleasant as it sounds. Or maybe it was never supposed to look that way and you were misinterpreting it all along━now that you think back on it, those scenes usually have something to do with First World Problems suicidal subtext, so it's mostly your fault for misunderstanding. Regardless, your point that having metal bars dig into your flesh is painful still stands.

When the train comes into view, you snap a picture with your already-waiting phone. After it's done, you quickly roll out of the way and watch it pass by. Exhilarated after your adrenaline rush, you stay still in your position and feel the grass tickling your skin for a moment. The sun will set soon, you dully note to yourself.

"Woah, what's up with you again?" You stand up stiffly and prepare to glare, only to see that guy with the bleached hair. He has a volleyball under his armpit and, are you tripping, or were there always two of him? Sure, he's not ugly but also not attractive enough to cause some kind of depravity-induced psychosis.

When you offer him only a dumb stare, his clone decides to let out a sardonic snicker. Then, in air quotes, he says, "Hey, this your 'girlfriend'?"

"Screw off," the OG argues convincingly.

His clone then decides to do just as he was told and leaves with a mumbled parting. The OG glares in his direction and then turns his attention back towards you. You think you heard his neck crack but you're not sure. This is when you realize that you don't even know his name. After this revelation, you decide to ask him.

"I'm Miya Atsumu. And that was my twin, 'Samu," he explains with a skeptical look. You are a bit... absent, for the lack of a better word. Maybe scatterbrained? Well, not knowing his name isn't that big of a deal, anyway. He will not act all dramatic over it except in a teasing manner. "You wound me."

"What are you doing here?" 

"Um, going home. We're neighbors, remember?"

You scratch your head. "Oh, right."

"I'm the one that should be asking this question. Why were ya spreading your legs at the train conductor? He probably couldn't even see," he says with a hint of a mischievous smile on his face. He shrivels into himself under your dead gaze, the narcissistic part of him feeling like an ugly wet dog at your lack of response. "Bad joke, sorry," he apologizes awkwardly after a long while of silence.

"It's just something I like doing. My hobby or whatever." It sounds vague, and it is, but this is your only attempt at an answer to his question.

As to make it sound less obscure or otherwise offputting, he decides to ask something more innocent than intended. "What? Photography?"

"You could say that," you agree with a wry smile, your eyes wilting into crescents. 

"I like playing volleyball." Atsumu gestures towards the object in his hands like he's interacting with some unknown wild animal and trying to lure it out of its shell. Once again, you did not ask, but he mostly doesn't trust you to remember ever mentioning it. Your memory hasn't proven itself to be the most reliable.

"You're on the team, aren't you?"

"Yeah, we're off-practice today." He mentions it like you're supposed to be aware of the fact that he's not following his usual schedule. Regardless, it's easy to see a more genuine kind of joy when he talks about the sport that you don't think you can understand. " _And_ , I really wanna play."

You stand up fully and decide to humor him, unusually generous. The specifics of the game are unknown territory to you, but you're sure that you can do some basic passes, if not anything else. "Why do you like volleyball?"

"I think I have a callin' for it. Y'know, I play setter and it's like, ya get to draw out the potential of the wing spikers. Ain't that so cool?"

You suppose it does sound cool when he puts it that way. But it also sounds like a control thing more than anything else. 

Though you offer no more than another pass of the ball towards him, he continues the conversation. With the risk of being insensitive that he doesn't account for, he decides to pry. "I don't think I've seen ya play any sports during PE. Why's that?"

"Oh, I'm not allowed," you state plainly. Then, when you notice the mild confusion written over his face, you decide to elaborate. "Because of _incidents_."

"Right." He laughs. "Is this what got ya to move to this school, anyway? _Incidents_?"

"Nah. About that girlfriend of yours━" he means to interrupt you with some kind of constipated grunt, but you ignore it, "━I think we should mess with her a little. As a treat."

"That doesn't sound half-bad. Anyways about your incidents. Ya should try hittin' a powerful serve. It's like stress-relief," he advises sagely.

"I'll think about it." Once you miss the pass Atsumu gives you, you pick up the ball, and he suggests going home already. You agree though you can't help thinking about how no one has ever walked home with you before and, _sure_ , he's headed in the same direction anyway but you allow yourself to be curious about this occurrence.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

This Friday, you feel like you have something to share during group therapy. You arrive a little early and take your usual seat next to Hoshikawa━who's still a nameless face in your faulty mind━with slight impatience. You remember, of course, what you did to him as you had turned it into art, though you didn't expect his face to be in such poor condition. His nose might be more broken than you thought it'd be.

There are no pleasantries exchanged between you two. You don't apologize and, in turn, he doesn't offer any sort of forgiveness. It's almost like nothing has transpired between the two of you and this thought alone satisfies you.

When Mrs. Fujiwara struts in, you watch her movements curiously. There's a mug of coffee in her hands and her stress is becoming more apparent. That sweet smile of hers that once seemed to curve over effortlessly is more strained today. Regardless, once the clock hits five, she proceeds as she usually does.

"Goodness, Hoshikawa. What happened to your face? Did you get in a fight at school _again_?" she asks with a scrunched eyebrow. You can understand why she's so displeased, now. What's the point of doing something when there's no obvious point to it, no visible result.

This is the moment when he's supposed to rat you out. Why wouldn't he? You just hit him for no reason, and it's not like he's emotionally attached to you. His next actions are nonsensical. "You know me and my big mouth. Got in trouble again."

Mrs. Fujiwara narrows her eyes at him, but she huffs and backs down. Even positive women like her can admit defeat. 

"You should see the other guy, though," Hoshikawa adds in for good measure. His idiotic remark is followed by a smirk that's too self-reassured. You want to beat him up again.

The session continues as normal. Mrs. Fujiwara asks each member if they have something to share, a brief discussion follows, and she goes onto the next one. When she asks you, you can see it in her face that at this point she knows that you won't say anything, but you're once again full of surprises.

"I think I'm making a friend," you say unsurely. It's not all at once, but it's going too smoothly, unlike when Haruna was trying to be your friend, and you get along with him too well. It's almost unnatural.

Everyone gapes at you in disbelief. For starters, they mostly assume that you're so socially inept that you're mistaking common courtesy for friendship. You don't know if that's the case━you won't say that it _isn't_ ━but it's not like you're interested in making friends, either. 

It's just so refreshing to you.

"Is that so?" Mrs. Fujiwara's smile softens around the edges and turns more real. "Would you like to share what they're like?"

"I think I said enough for today," you say hastily. What's Atsumu like? You're not sure. He's smug and he can be annoying when he tries to be funny, but you don't mind him. There's something else there that you don't see on the surface when you're talking to him.

A few people congratulate you, but you ignore them. Hoshikawa side-eyes you with sudden interest, one that doesn't quite suit his otherwise somber face. "Wow, shocker," he comments with what you think is supposed to be malice but comes out as ill-willed affection.

"And? What about you, Hoshikawa?"

"Oh, I managed to convince these two girls to do a ménage à trois and for those of you who aren't bilingual, that means having a threeso━"

"Enough of that!"

"You didn't even pronounce it correctly," another girl chides in quietly.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When you look for Hoshikawa after the session, he's in the same place where you found him last time. He's always alone, smoking, and from an outsider's perspective, he just looks sad. You wonder, sometimes, if you look sad, like him; wandering around all alone, up to no good. You'd like to believe that you don't.

"I just wanted to ask, why didn't you rat me out?" You would've surely gotten in trouble and he would've gotten some payback. Your tardiness is hardly tolerated nowadays, though you seem to never learn.

"I don't like snitches, man," he says.

"Ha, you're so full of shit," you mock. You could hit him again, right now. It wouldn't matter. 

"Y'know," he starts, and you note the bandage on his nose as well as the bruising under his eyes and over his cheek. He looks rough, but not defeated. He doesn't wear the expression of someone defeated. "I'm already at a dead end here. I don't have to drag you through the mud with me just 'cause you're a freak. Actually, I quite like creepy bitches like you, so consider yourself lucky."

You don't understand what he's saying. Since moving in Hyogo, you've seen different types of smiles. Atsumu only grins with his mouth, but never his eyes. Mrs. Fujiwara has a tired smile and her eyes glaze over and it's like she's looking after everyone and no one at the same time. Your teachers either look at you with pity or something akin to fear. Hoshikawa's are sharper with something poisonous tucked away, some kind of unspoken secret.

You're yet to see a genuine smile in Hyogo, you think.

"What do you mean, drag me through the mud?"

"You're here because...?"

"My mom," you say. She indeed signed you up as a lesson in sociability. You don't think it's been too successful, so far. 

"Right. There's still a chance you'll get outta this shithole." He exhales some more smoke and you watch it curiously. "I'll have to go until the end of my third year, no matter what."

"Oh, I get it. You don't like coming to the group sessions. You think you're doing me a favor." It's an obtuse observation. Where's that goodwill coming from, anyway?

"And you do? I don't believe that."

"I like it. It's insightful," you justify. Not spiritually, at least not yet. Moreso in a way where you get a glimpse into these people's lives that even some of their closest people don't. It's all just so fascinating to you.

"Right. Keep preachin' and shake your Pinterest ass while you're at it." Hoshikawa twirls his finger around, probably to signify this supposed corny twerk you're supposed to perform. 

You frown. You thought that maybe he's similar enough to understand you. "I didn't mean it like that."

He looks irritated, but you can't understand how you saying barely three sentences could be more upsetting than breaking his nose. You watch as he walks away somewhere, leaving you to reflect upon your situation by your lonesome. You've been speaking more lately━maybe you shouldn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 30/04/20: seems like the chapter was littered with typos and whatnot... sorry about that. i wrote it really late at night and i did read it over but i didn't notice for some reason. Wale i'm dyslexic so i hope yall can forgive me when that happens, but i did go back and fix them


	4. 777

"―Miya Atsumu and [L/n] [Y/n]―"

There's a hunch in your posture. You pick at your at the skin of your thumb, tearing it apart until the call of your name forces you out of your trance. What was this for again? A group project, right? That'd explain why your name was called with someone else.

Atsumu's obnoxious attitude jumps out when he sticks his finger in your side, using the fact that he sits behind you to his utmost advantage. You startle, though not in a manner that's too visible, and turn back to glare at him. 

He whispers, "You're lucky to be my partner."

"Why?" You blink, tilting your head to the side in genuine perplexity. _Ouch_. You could be stuck with any other idiot from this class, it wouldn't matter, nor would it impact your life in a positive way. 

"Because you have no friends," he retorts before sticking out his tongue at you. You assume this is the underground practice that they call 'teasing'. Still, apart from the weird girls who seem to always be screaming his name in the hallway, it's not like he has that much of a blooming social life either. He must take after Hippocrates from Ancient Greece, or whatever the dude's name was.

You flip him off with a scowl until the teacher calls you out for not paying attention and causing a disturbance. Atsumu apologizes, which is kind of surprising even if you can't say you know much about his character, and you go back to pulling at your skin until it draws blood underneath your desk. The teacher doesn't mind your silence.

You feel a light object hit you on the neck, then it slides off. You turn to look back towards Atsumu again and he's smiling in his usual smug manner that's more of a show-off rather than a real display of joy, which tells you he's the culprit. "What's with you? Are you in your bully era?"

"Miss [L/n], please settle down," the teacher asks, his tone exhausted. You shrug, a non-apology, and then lean down to pick up whatever Atsumu threw at you. It looks like a piece of paper and you have half a mind not to throw it away. 

To sate your curiosity though, you open it and see that he wrote something. That makes more sense than whatever you first thought, which may or may not have been along the lines of him throwing garbage at you unprovoked. 

_When can we work on it?_

You decide to reply in sloppy handwriting, _What day is it today?_

_Friday._

_I can't on Friday. Any day but Friday._

_I can't on any day I have practice, meaning Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday._

_Ha-ha._ _You're so funny._ You draw an unamused looking face next to your message. You, too, can partake in the underground practice called sarcasm.

_Thank you so much! ^-^ Monday it is._

You don't even know what to say. Or in this case, write―the devil is in the details or something like that. _Ok. I live on the last floor._

_Penthouse girl. Are you rich or something? LOL._

_I don't know. Did they drop you on your head as a baby?_

_That's so out of left-field._

_Well, did they? Your clone seems much more reasonable. I imagine it's hard to hold two babies at the same time._

He doesn't respond, but you hear the crunching of a piece of paper. You guess you'll have to talk to him about your schedule on the way to your apartment complex.  
  


* * *

  
Ms. Fujiwara is doing her daily round of questions again. You wonder if someone will say anything interesting, but it looks like you've started to associate the statements being made with different people. For example, there's one girl who mentions having problems with the authorities in her school often and a guy who broke his legs a while ago and is getting back into cycling, which has been most of what his updates have been about.

Still, you're not sure what their names are, but the fog in your brain seems to be clearing, even if just slightly. 

You observe Hoshikawa in your periphery. He's not listening, instead picking on the bandage plastered over his nose with nails bitten beyond the bed. It looks like there are cat scratches over his knuckles and fingers. You wonder if he has a pet, or if he's just clumsy. His hands catch your attention and you notice that despite his skinniness, he seems to have some muscle definition. You wonder if he does sports like Atsumu, too, but that seems unlikely.

He doesn't sense your intense stare, oblivious in his attempts at scratching off the bandage. It gives you a weird sense of watching yourself from a different perspective, the way he's behaving. 

Hoshikawa claimed he did something in school that forced him to go to group therapy. You remember him saying that so it must be important. But what could be so heinous to lend him here, this activity deemed compulsory by the faculty? 

He snaps out of it when Ms. Fujiwara addresses him in a scolding. "Stop playing with that, you're still injured!" 

His hands fall limp to his sides. He doesn't look like he's up for playing games today, for whatever reason, and that makes you almost want to denounce him for no longer acting interesting. "Meh, I got pink eye again. See?"

"Anything else..?" she prods. "You're just not taking this seriously."

Hoshikawa shrugs, and then the woman redirects her attention towards you. You think of what to say for a moment. "Hmm. Oh, I'm working on a school project with my friend."

"That's great news." Ms. Fujiwara gives you a sweet smile, and its sudden sincerity makes you a bit nauseous. Why is she so nice, even to people like yourself and Hoshikawa? You can't understand behavior like that.

"Thanks," you reply, curt.

After everyone finishes speaking about their week, Ms. Fujiwara proceeds with this week's task. You're not sure if these activities are supposed to be seen as a task, per se, but you feel like they're a bit of a chore. 

She goes around the circle and hands everyone a sheet of paper before placing a bunch of coloring pencils on the table. You don't remember signing up for kindergarten but await her explanation with no cynical commentary. "You must draw yourself as a child and then you'll draw and write anything it needs for a happy childhood, including a nurturing parent."

It's often that these activities make you uncomfortable, but this is the one thing that creates the biggest pit in your stomach. A sense of dread overtakes you while you stare at the empty sheet in your lap. You can just not do it. It's not a problem, Ms. Fujiwara is just so nice that she won't say anything about it.

Hoshikawa reaches out to grab a pencil and starts doing something at his discretion. You follow suit despite what you were telling yourself moments prior, though you wonder what would even make you happy. Since it's the simple part, you draw yourself and your first idea for a parental figure is your mom.

Instead, you depict a male figure next to you. It's kind of like making an original character, except you get to say that he's your father. You give him the same skin and hair color as yours. You write 'supportive' over his head and then list off traits you'd find pleasant in your guardian.

You don't know what would make you happy, despite debating it in your head. You already had a lot of toys and stuff like that while you were growing up, and you don't quite remember what kids do, if you ever lived through it. Uninspired, you take a peek at Hoshikawa's drawing instead. 

He drew some shaky-looking, crude stickman. "Holy shit, that's the ugliest fucking thing I've ever seen," you say out loud. At the sound of your voice, you notice his hand cease its movements.

"At least I can say I _wasn't_ trying. Yours is ugly even though you obviously put some effort in," he retorts once he gets a good look at it. 

You read whatever you consider legible from his work. It says Hoshikawa Hoshino on top in chicken scratch, and you can see that he has written nonsense like 'sports car' and 'cigs'. "What are you supposed to be, some kinda.. pimp toddler?"

"I was kind of imagining that I'm reincarnated as a baby but with my current mind, thanks," he explains, smirking as if he's proud of himself.

"I don't even have to say anything to make you look bad, you just do it yourself at this point."

Ms. Fujiwara approaches you two and takes your work with a disappointed look on her face. It seems she wasn't happy with whatever she overheard from your conversation. After your projects are confiscated, she announces that time ran out, and everyone is free to go. 

You don't expect Hoshikawa to approach you after your minor scuffle or whatever you wanna call it. Yet, for some reason, he does. "Hey, crazy."

"You can just call me by my name."

"No, that won't do. See, we're like Bonnie and Clyde except you're Crazy Bitch and I'm Sir Neurotypical."

You roll your eyes, ready to shrug him off. He understands your intention to not respond, so he continues, "Which leads me to my next point. Go out with me on Monday."

_Huh?_

* * *

"What is this project even about?" you ask, serious.

Atsumu looks at his palm and starts sounding out the syllables. It looks like his sweat throughout the day made it all smudged. "Plant-associated microbes and current genomic tools."

"Why did you write that on your hand? It was three days ago," you say, with a mildly disgusted expression on your face. You imagine all kinds of unsanitary things.

"I figured you'd forget. But I also figured I'd forget by the time you ask me, that's why I wrote it in the morning. I'm playing checkers while you're playing chess." His smug expression falters a little once he realizes he fumbled over his words. "Nevermind, that's not even right."

Between the two of you, a silence settles. It only breaks once you enter your apartment and take off your shoes. "Nice place. I always wondered what the last floor looks like," he says, though his attempt at flattery comes off a bit awkward.

"Thanks, my mom pays for it."

"Dude, can you not take a compliment?"

You make a confused expression. "But you weren't complimenting me? You were complimenting the apartment."

"Oh, I see. You're _actually_ impossible," he declares with a sigh. 

You sneer at his vexation and start heading off towards your room, Atsumu follows. He notes that your room is very bleak, but doesn't comment on it for the sake of civility. You open your laptop while he pulls out a notebook and starts searching for something on his phone. You agree to take the bit about microbes, and he'll talk about the genomic tools. 

You break concentration once his phone starts pinging in an incessant succession. He appears to be ignoring the texts. "You're not gonna answer all that?"

"It's just my―" there's an uncomfortable trailing off, "― _girlfriend_."

"What'd she say?" you ask. What he said has piqued your interest. 

"She sent a picture of you. And wrote some corny shit, I don't know."

You snort. Everything he describes pertaining to this relationship is straight-up pathetic, from his unfair way of ignoring her even before this revelation to her unnecessarily sending pictures of you to get a reaction out of him. "That's sad."

He reaches his hand towards you so you can see better. You want to make another sardonic remark, perhaps, but you stop in your tracks once you get a good look at the photo. It's you with a hood pulled over your head and a bloody smile. You remember you took it after the fight that got you expelled from your last school. 

Your gut turns and you stand up once you realize you might vomit. You've never been so disconcerted.

_"Atsumu. I've never uploaded this one anywhere."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see lol

**Author's Note:**

> this is going to be... kind of weird... i'm experimenting...


End file.
